She matched me, challenged me, met my fury with her own and refused to be conquered even in this.
And the fact that her defiance only made me want her more. That’s the real problem.
Somewhere between planning her destruction and executing it, she’s become a dangerous distraction.
I should be focused solely on business and the alliance and the endgame that’s supposed to balance Marco’s death.
I look at Marco’s photograph again, at his easy smile and kind eyes, and feel something crack inside me.
“Forgive me,” I whisper to the image. “I’m losing the plot, and I don’t know how to find my way back.”
The photograph offers no answers or absolution. Just Marco’s frozen smile, forever captured in a moment before everything went to hell.
I drain the whiskey, but it does nothing to erase the memory of Giuliana’s skin against mine, her fury matching my own, the way she kissed me back despite claiming to hate me.
I’ve just crossed a line I can’t uncross. And whatever happens next, nothing between Giuliana and me will ever be simple again.
9
GIULIANA
I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows and my body screaming in protest.
My thighs, my back, places I didn’t know could be sore—everythingaches.
The sheets are tangled around my legs, and for one disoriented moment, I don’t remember why I hurt so bad.
Then it all comes rushing back.
Luca storming into my room.
The fight.
His hands on me, my hands on him, the wall pressing against my back, the fury and heat and desperate need that overrode every rational thought in my head.
Ohgod.
I press my palms against my eyes, willing the memories to disappear, but they’re burned into my brain.
The way I kissed him back, the way I challenged him, goaded him,wantedhim despite everything he’s done to me.
The way my body responded to his touch like I’d been starving for it.
I’m going to be sick.
I bolt from the bed and barely make it to the bathroom before I’m dry heaving over the toilet, my stomach churning with self-disgust.
Nothing comes up, but my body convulses anyway, trying to purge the horror of what I’ve done.
I had sex. With my captor. With the man who destroyed my life, who’s holding my father hostage.
And the worst part, the part that makes me want to crawl out of my own skin, is that some traitorous part of meenjoyedit.
The tears come hot and fast, and I press my forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom floor, sobbing until my throat is raw.
What’s wrong with me?
How could I respond to him like that?
